Everything
by 72HoursTsukuyomi
Summary: Beautiful. That is the only word that would form in my mind every time I watched him skating. Because it's him. He, who is everything. This is our last time. Make it count.


_Beautiful._

 _That's the only word that would form in my mind, every time I watched him skating._

Have you ever felt like having everything and nothing at the same time?

People said I had the world. Success, fame, fortune. Perfect, right?

If so… when I was given that golden proof of victory for the fifth time, why did it feel… like I had nothing?

When Georgi sent me that video of _him_ skating my program, just like everyone I was honestly surprised. Such a courageous –almost audacious- act after such a poor performance at the Grand Prix, they called it. I was simply curious. But when I finally saw it, I knew. Instantly, I knew.

This person had _something_.

 _Something_ I didn't.

 _Something_ I wanted. Needed. And so I couldn't afford to waste another second.

It wasn't like anyone would try to stop me, anyway. Other than Yakov of course. But as protective and caring as he'd always been I didn't expect him to make any sense of my reasons. Reasons I couldn't understand myself.

There was nothing holding me back. I was leaving nothing behind. Coming to think of it, maybe I should have visited my mother, just this once. I wonder if she remade her life or remains the relic my father left behind all those years ago, when he apparently decided he wasn't up for a family. Honestly, what a time, for thoughts like these… Almost six years since I last saw her. I'm certain she missed her failure of a son as little as I missed her. Maybe she even supports someone else right now, as much as she never supported me. Maybe I have some sibling somewhere in Russia? (or the world?) Funny. Maybe she even… _loves_ them.

Love. Let me laugh.

I hope they at least can be what I couldn't. Maybe they can feel pain and nostalgia after leaving her, for I couldn't. I really tried, I swear. Amusing, how it sounds so dramatic, when it's just so natural. I leave to study journalism in St Petersburg and at the same time continue skating under some couch. She never calls. I never visit. Simple as that. Then I see her in Moscow after my first gold at some Grand Prix. I always wondered if she… kept an eye on me. I guess my reputation had started to precede me. We converse. I give her the money she obviously wants and we never talk again. But at least I still send her money. It's the least I can do to… alleviate my regret.

And when I left Yakov at the airport, I wondered if she ever felt that sudden jolt of pain through her body, just like I did. Doubtful. But well, since the very first moment he found me, Yakov has always been the father I never had.

But _he_ … _he_ was different.

He had a warm, welcoming place to call home. He was surrounded by people who loved him. So then… why did he look so… lost?

When I first saw him skating at his hometown, alone on the ice, running away from his own thoughts, I knew. He, too. He was missing _something_.

But I didn't have it.

And yet, when I started coaching him, I realized. Honestly, I, a breathing and walking mistake that destroyed my parent's young _love_ and my mother's dreams, have made only three right choices in my 28 years of existence.

Skating. Trusting myself to Yakov. Coming after _him_.

Have you ever felt like the world turns upside down but at the same time it is so perfectly in order?

It was strange really. Strange and mesmerizing. How he transformed, from a disbelieving and depressed loser to a confident claimer of the throne on which they wanted my name carved. From a stuttering mess, to a merciless extinguisher of personal space. From trembling to determined. From awed to awe-inspiring. From a flickering flame to a scorching fire.

From thankful to _greedy_.

More than strange really. How I wished he'd want _more._

When did it start? I haven't really realized. The first moment he's the accidental muse to guide me out of my lethargy, the next, he's the alluring siren to pin down and leave sleepless.

And then somewhere along whirlpools of emotion in dark eyes and breath-taking, ethereal dances, he's the angel to steal away from paradise for eternity.

It shouldn't have been this way. I shouldn't have allowed this to happen.

And yet… the way he always turned to me after his dances, breathless and adrenalized, face flushed and impatient… does he, by any chance, think, I have what he lacks? What he _wants_? Me, who has nothing?

Impossible.

What are you thinking right now?

Do I perhaps pass through your mind even for a second?

Do you know? Do you have the slightest idea… of how… beautiful you are?

Beautiful.

That's the only word that would form in my mind, every time I watched him skating.

Like a god, blessing his believers with a taste of heaven.

Plainly beautiful.

The graceful movements of his arms, the rhythmical movements of his legs, skates caressing the ice like the sensitive skin of a lover, the sparkling costume embracing his lithe form, revealing, like a sinful secret, the lines of a body, Ancient Greek gods would envy, silver skin shining under the lights, and dark eyes gleaming in ecstasy. The music materializing as wings spreading from a firm back, which no longer carries the burden of the past.

Enrapturing, like an exotic smell. Disarming, like a thoroughly unique flavor. Thought-numbing, like the sensual touch of experienced fingers.

And he's flying. He's always above and beyond.

Yes! That was perfect! I don't know anyone who deserves the throne more than you.

This is where it ends.

This is our last time. Make it count.

It's over in some seconds. I wish it'd last forever…

The only thing certain is… I can never go back. So…

Where are we going from now on?

"This is history being written before our eyes, ladies and gentlemen! Katsuki Yuuri form Japan, age 24, not only wins the Grand Prix, but leaves behind a world record of a program of such unmatched difficulty, performed so flawlessly! Did the legend Victor Nikiforov create a new legend? This is the unbeatable power of love, everyone!"

His ears are buzzing from the pandemonium of cheers from the crowd, his eyes roam the scenery of flashing lights unfocused, his hands are trembling around the colorful bouquet, as he skates in the middle of the ice and climbs the podium but the weight of the gold around his neck feels _comforting_.

He loves it and at the same time he hates it.

Yurio, from his left side, eyes him with anger, annoyance and poorly concealed pride, and he would turn to smile at him, but.

He's not thinking.

He's not hearing. The commenter addressing the names of his fellow medalists or the applause of the audience.

He's not seeing. The crowd's exhilarated faces, the photographers fighting to take pictures, the expressions of the competitors next to him.

He's not thinking.

His head just moves on its own to the general direction, he knows, _he_ is. His body just moves on its own towards the edge of the rink, where _he_ is. _He_ is surprised and perplexed. _He's_ making that face, which would leave him breathless if he could comprehend it. But, well, all of _his_ different faces, leave him breathless. Because it's _him_. _He_ , who is everything.

And he's not thinking.

His hands just move on their own to put _their_ medal around _his_ neck. His palms just move on their own to gently cup _his_ face. His lips move on their own to taste _his_.

And his love is starting to overflow the edges of this universe.

His forehead touches softly against his. His eyes drown willingly in endless sky blue. The astounded silence crumbles into louder applause, screams, and cheers. But, they aren't hearing. There's no need to think.

"For as much as you want, even if it is forever or a mere second… stay close to me…"

 _So, in the end, we were both searching for the same thing…_

 _Have you ever felt, like you have everything, but everything means nothing, because all you pray for is just this hand to hold?_

"So, where are we going from now?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere is fine… as long as you're mine."


End file.
